I Sleep With a Ghost
by JustDreamingOutLoud
Summary: Bob walks an opaque, thin line of morals that just keeps on getting thinner. He struggles to find something permanent that will allow him to move on from his haunting mistakes, but what if that's Bart, and the blond simply loathes him? Bort. M/M. Slash. You get the picture.
1. Chapter 1

I Sleep With a Ghost

_Pairing: Bort / Bob/Bart_

_Rating: M for safety. _

_Relevant warnings: Language. Violence. Minor-character mentioned noncon (non-descriptive). Slash._

_Summary: Bob walks an opaque, thin line of morals that just keeps on getting thinner. He struggles to find something permanent that will allow him to move on from his haunting mistakes, but what if that's Bart, and the blond simply loathes him? Bort. M/M. Slash. You get the picture._

_Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not claim to own or be affiliated with 'The Simpsons' or it's universe. This work is not for profit, and purely for entertainment purposes. _

Chapter 1: I Sleep With a Ghost

He'd planned it for weeks. It was fool proof. He knew it would work, and he couldn't care less if he was suspected for it afterwards or not; he only wanted the mindbogglingly large obtrusion in his life to disappear at last. Oh to be free...free to live his life, free to make decisions without taking into consideration the vile monstrosity who had his whole life before him, with nothing in his way, and yet tossed it aside like a candy wrapper.

Perhaps he was obsessed, but that just made what he had to do all that more clearer. Remove the oddity in his life.

Quite the contrary to popular belief, Springfield is a particularly easy place to hide within without being sighted. There are little number of people that would have any interest to, after spotting someone like Bob, go and gossip about it. The population of Springfield included mostly of self-obsessed individuals, and people way too concerned with themselves. Bob wasn't really a very interesting topic outside of the Simpson household and maybe the police station, that is if the police ever actually had an intelligent conversation within those walls.

After trying so hard to forget about his past and just continue with his life, Bob had decided that it was impossible. Every fibre of his being was driven towards the eldest Simpson offspring, and that was his only reason for doing this. He feared mental instability if it went on.

So, he rented out a crappy little shanty on the outskirts of the township of Springfield, and set to work. After watching Bart, and deducing his routine and habits, he'd started to formulate a way to rid himself of the boy.

There, just ahead of Bob, walked Bart Simpson, his blonde hair shining innocently in the sunlight of the midday. He was walking home from a long day at school, a lightness in his step that gave his mood away. Bob loathed it, loathed everything about the way he walked.

It was a relatively normal day in the middle of the year, with birds chirping in the trees and sprinklers spraying droplets of water in the front gardens of family houses, and smiling, happy faces. But Bob wasn't smiling. Not even close.

Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled and fingered the sharp blade that he'd placed in there earlier with shaking hands. It remained, hidden and fierce, sharp power, and solid danger. The knowledge sent a cold shiver up Bob's spine and he closed his eyes as it reached it's end point. Today was the day.

Opening his eyes, Bob realised he'd lagged behind, and hurried his pace to the place he knew he'd find the his target. Bart was going through a period in which he wanted solidarity and space, if not only for a little while each day. He had a secret stash of cigarettes that he'd hidden in Horesly Park, and he went there to smoke them. At eleven, it was an early age to start smoking- not that Bob cared; the horror wouldn't live long enough for it to trouble him, anyway.

With the stealth only a criminal could wield so well, Bob drifted through the shadows, spotting the blond mop of the main focus of his mind up ahead. Right in the small clearing under the forgiving shade of the large droopy tree that he'd seen Bart sitting in alone every day for over a fortnight. His fingers tingling at the closeness of both the little monster and of the act, Bob drew the blade up and moved forward. With only a foot or two between them, Bob, eager, with adrenalin coursing through his veins like lava pushed onwards and, listening only to the rush in his ears, brought his knife up and forced it down as harshly as he could manage.

Blood, rich and dark and red exploded from the wound on the nape of Bart's neck, flooding over Bob's large hands, dripping through his fingers and spraying the lush bushes. Bart grappled at his neck, turning as best he could to look, crawling as best he could to escape.

It was cruel and messy, and Bob did it once more before he noticed something was wrong. The strangling, spluttering and gaping thing before him was wrong. It was wrong. It was all wrong. Why was it wrong? It couldn't be wrong!

But it was. It was terribly, awfully wrong.

It wasn't Bart. The green-eyed boy stared at Bob with petrified, huge eyes, his desperately clutching fingers coated in his own blood. He scrambled backwards, away from Bob, though he wasn't doing a very good job on account of refusing to remove his hands from his own neck in fear. He was so scared, and so very confused.

Bob's arms lost all their strength and dropped to his sides limply, the knife clanging on a rock as it was dropped without a thought. His face was blank except from his mouth, which opened slightly in shock, and his suddenly darkly hollow eyes. All the adrenalin was gone, replaced with quite the opposite. His body was suddenly made of lead, and he watched for a minute or two as the little boy, about Bart's age, started to cry like there was no tomorrow. Which there very well mightn't be for him. He was having trouble breathing, and was losing a lot of blood.

But Bob just stood there.

Suddenly, another boy appeared from the left, and stopped dead at the scene before him. Bob could only see him out of the corner of his eye, but without the adrenaline and whatnot interfering, immediately identified the other kid as Bart.

"Alan! What the- What happened?" Bart cried, running over to his apparent friend and kneeling beside him. The bleeding boy named Alan frantically looked pointedly from Bart to Bob, making a gurgling sound.

The wide eyes of Bart turned to Bob, and if possible, widened even more. Then they narrowed. "...You! Why won't you just go away and stop screwing up my life!" he yelled furiously, bravely, whilst fumbling in his pockets for his phone, tears forming in the bottom of his eyes. "I hate you! You _fucking_ bastard!"

Bob just stood there.

Bart punched some numbers on his phone and gave Alan instructions to hold his wound tightly. He was panicked on the phone, and although Bob wasn't trying to listen, gathered that he was calling the police and an ambulance. He'd told them a psychopath had stabbed his friend in the neck.

Focusing on the Alan boy again, Bob couldn't tell whether his injury was dire or not. The boy was smothering it with Bart's jacket, sobbing and gasping for air, spasmodic, moaning in pain, rocking back and forth, and glancing up at Bob every now and again in terror.

After hanging up, Bart checked his friend, then glanced at Bob and seemed infuriated that he was still standing there. "Go the fuck away already! You sick fuck! Watching him bleed out like this!" he yelled, choking on his own words and tears halfway through his rant.

And that's when Bob let loose a sob of his own. A heart-wrenching, cracked sound that silenced the clearing and turned heads. He covered his face with his hands and his shoulders was wracked again with another sob, this time inwardly.

The two boys watched him in mutual silence as he dropped to his knees and began to weep. He had not cried like that for a very long time, nor had the two boys seen so many heartfelt tears spill from one man.

~-~X~-~

Prison wasn't so bad.

Bob sat on his cot, prison-issued book of Shakespeare in hand and back against the forever cold brick wall. Things never changed in here, and he was left hours in the day, every day, to mule over his thoughts and ultimately pretty much torture himself. He hadn't been himself since that day, that fateful day he mistook a schoolmate of Bart Simpson, to be Bart Simpson.

He hardly talked, he looked like a shadow of his former self, and everything was dull. One false move and Bob felt as if he would crumble.

He had killed a boy. An innocent. And it haunted his dreams, and his every waking moment. He saw his frightened face in the mirror. He saw his pained expression in his fellow incarcerated criminals. He heard his guttural cries in the noise of the cafeteria. Bob feared it was slowly turning him crazy.

Lost in his thoughts, Bob jumped slightly when his cell door slid open. Knowing he wasn't allowed to stay in his cell twenty-four-seven, Bob stood, stretched, and merged into the river of criminals flowing past the opening in his isolated cell.

He was more often alone than with company in his cell. His last cell mate had killed himself- well he'd knowingly irked men who he knew would kill him for it, so as to die. He was weak-hearted, and a rapist, and Bob hadn't made his life any easier for him whilst living in the same cell as him. But he hadn't wanted him dead. He hardly thought himself in a position of greatness, able to judge the others in here; he'd sinned his sin just the same as them.

"Hey, Robert," a short but stocky man with an array of tattoos appeared beside Bob as they walked towards the cafeteria.

"What do you want, Arnold?" Bob asked, sounding uninterested.

But the man seemed to expect this, accepting it as the usual. "There's fresh meat arriving today, ya know?"

"So what? It's always the same."

"Apparently Jace's brother is coming in." Arnold said happily. "I've been waiting for something to use against Jace for ages now."

"Blackmail?"

"Pretty much. That little bitch will be mine if I have to break his little brother's arm in three places first," he cackled, very much amused with himself.

"Whatever, Arnold," Bob said, waving the man off like a fly and walking in another direction. He got his food and sat down by a few others he knew and who recognised him as an equal. He cared not for their conversation, but for the illusion it granted him to keep out of trouble. He watched Arnold walk over to Jace, a slightly taller male with chestnut hair, and say something to him. He received a punch in the face and a fight soon followed.

Arnold had had a thing for Jason (A.K.A: Jace) since before Bob arrived. It was a twisted concoction of longing, hormones and even, some would say, love. Jace wanted nothing to do with Arnold, but Arnold wouldn't take no for an answer. He wanted Jace too badly, and that's where normal feelings and interactions frayed and swirled into something else entirely.

Shrugging off the fight, Bob focused on eating his daily nourishment. The food wasn't too bad, but Bob still couldn't taste it. He felt as if his taste buds had been taken out almost completely, or altered, to make everything taste the same.

That now-familiar face appeared in his food and Bob had to pause, looking, he was sure, like he was in pain. He sure felt it.

That afternoon found Bob outside, staring up at the sky with the only hour a day he got to spend outside those suffocatingly close walls. There were men playing handball, sitting on the benches in groups, and some of the tougher, meaner criminals were playing basketball. Bob stood next to the fence, gazing at the fluffy white clouds in the sky that looked like his insides felt.

A short bus rolled up the drive and prison guards gathered around it as it stopped. Every now and then new inmates would be brought to the prison, all handcuffed and looking miserable and some scared. Bob never usually watched the new arrivals; it reminded him too much of a time when his wounds were as raw as fresh meat.

But it was his outside time, and he wasn't going to give it up just so he didn't have to watch the new criminals doing the catwalk.

Arnold appeared by Bob's side again, and Bob inwardly rolled his eyes; the man annoyed him to no ends.

"That's him there. I see the resemblance," he murmured, looking far too excited than he should.

Purely because Arnold was too disturbing to watch, Bob turned his gaze to the line of criminals and knew instantly which was Jace's brother. A young man with chestnut hair and a skinny frame ambled along, glancing nervously at the rowdy men in orange jumpsuits that had gathered behind the fence. Mistake one- check; never show any weakness.

There were wolf-whistles, one of which came from Arnold.

"Control yourself, Arnold," Bob sighed, feeling almost embarrassed to be beside the horny man. Hell, he still had _some_ dignity, not much, but some, and Arnold offended even that.

"Isn't he pretty?" Arnold noted, his hungry eyes not leaving the boy, for that's what he was; barely an eighteen-year-old boy.

"He's just a kid."

Arnold scoffed, looking at Bob in disbelief. "He's in an adult prison. He's not a kid."

Looking away from Arnold, Bob caught the last glimpse of the stumbling, chestnut-haired boy before he disappeared through a door into the prison.

Brushing it all off, Bob walked away, leaving the last of his precious outside-time behind as he headed inside to go read by himself.

~-~X~-~

That night in the cafeteria, Bob was sitting at his respective table with his tray of what might as well have been mush, not listening to the chatter around him. A common ritual was for the jokers and the most arrogant of the criminals to give the new arrivals a hard time. Bob played no part in it, but never lifted a finger to stop it either. This time, Jace's little brother seemed to be the main focus of almost everyone. Especially Arnold.

"Hey there, Cupcake, you got a name?" Arnold grinned darkly, in line for food behind the chestnut-haired youth. He moved into the kid's personal space, making him jumpy and nervous.

At first the kid tried ignoring Arnold, but Arnold wasn't one for being ignored and that just made it worse.  
"Hey, I _said_ what's your name?" He shoved the kid a little, receiving a surprised and scared little sound out of him. Arnold grinned again, liking that he was intimidating him.

"G-Gabriel..." the kid stuttered, glancing at Arnold quickly before looking away again.

"Ooh, _Gabriel_ is it now? How _fancy!_" Arnold laughed, shoving the kid again so he stumbled. "You know, Gabriel, your brother told me I could do whatever I wanted with you when you got here."

Gabriel's eyes widened slightly. "N-no he didn't," he said helplessly, looking around for his big brother in the room.

"You callin' me a liar?"

"W-what? No I just...Jason wouldn't..." Gabriel stuttered before Jace came storming up to Arnold and immediately punched him in the face.

"Fuck you, Arnold, you bastard!" Jace scowled. "Leave my fucking brother out of this."

As usual, another fight broke out between Arnold and Jace, involving anyone close enough to take a hit. Gabriel jumped out of the way and backed away, but was intercepted by a couple of other thugs who looked very happy to have the vulnerable boy in their grasp.

Playing with his food, Bob yawned. Within his whole time locked up in this hell-hole, Bob had seen scared men before. But never had he seen such a petrified face before, not since...

Rising so quickly from his seat that his chair squealed loudly on the floor behind him, Bob abandoned his food and marched straight over to Gabriel and the thugs who were being quite inappropriate with him. The guards were too busy with breaking up the fight to worry about something so common.

"Stop," Bob demanded once he reached them.

"What?" one of the thugs asked, irked, turning around to see Bob. Immediately their stances changed. The thugs backed off a little. They were way below Bob on the food chain in here, and they were smart enough to realise it. "Why?"

"Because I said so," Bob seethed, grabbing Gabriel by the arm and pulling him away from the two unhappy-looking inmates. He practically dragged the kid to his table and made him sit in the seat beside him before sitting down himself and promptly sliding his food over to him.

Gabriel looked at Bob in confusion and shock, and after a moment or two of silence, had built the courage up to speak quietly. "A-are you going to hurt me?" he asked pathetically.

Bob refused to look at him, but shook his head nonetheless. "No."

"...T-then...thank you," he murmured, hanging his head sheepishly and eating the food Bob had given him slowly, probably out of courtesy instead of hunger.

The ex-clown had seen Alan in Gabriel more than he ever had anyone else. It had been such a vivid feeling, that he had not been able to let the other inmates do as they like with the kid. He was so weak and vulnerable, he probably would've ended up either dead by his own hand or another's. Maybe saving this kid was a way to help his own morality. God knew, Bob needed saving just as much as this lad.

* * *

_Edited._


	2. Lose Me My Mind

Chapter 2: Lose Me My Mind

The nights were the worst yet also the best. Freezing cold during the winter months, and breathlessly hot during the summer ones- it was borderline torture. The cold and the heat let Bob forget, whilst the blankness of his mind during sleep made him remember.

It was a cold night tonight, and Bob's new inmate was crying softly above him; his sobs echoing off the bare walls. It was the crying man's first night in lock-up, and Bob guessed he'd never been incarcerated before this either. But his weeping was infiltrating his skull and messing with his thoughts, rousing them from sleep and showing them bloody pictures.

"Will you shut up?" Bob growled after about an hour of listening and waiting for the man to finally cease his tears, his patience shot.

There was a long, blissful pause of sobs before the man shifted and presumably buried his face in his pillow. The sobs started up again, but were muffled and quieter and dulled until they died off entirely. Bob made a mental note to have a nice chat with his new cell mate, not to mention one of the officers in charge of cell transfers, tomorrow.

When the light filtered through the bars of his cell in the first light of the morning, Bob was already awake, staring at the bunk above him with blank eyes, hands laced over his chest. Dreams evaded him these days, but Bob cared little for them anyway.

There was a fly buzzing in the soft rays of light amongst the floating dotted dust particles. He could hear it's buzz like a vibration in his ears, in his mind; despite the snores and noise of the other prisoners. It caught his focus, caught his entire attention, and he could feel his mind slipping away towards the sound, almost entirely lost in it in his sleepless state.

"Did I keep you awake?" his cell-mate asked, leaning over the edge of the top bunk to gaze at the redhead.

His world opened up again instantly and Bob felt anger towards this man. But he reined it in before it let loose. "Yes."

The man shrugged and looked out the bars of the cell briefly before looking back at Bob. "Guess I was just upset they lugged me with a faggot of a cell-mate like you," he sneered easily.

As surprising as this turn was for Bob, he wasn't shocked. This man was trying not to make the first mistake- looking weak. He'd cried; he couldn't help it, but now he regretted it and was afraid of what Bob would think of him and so was acting 'tough', Bob guessed.

"Look, I'm not the kind of person you'll get very far with talking like that," Bob said lowly, not moving anything other than his eyes. "So don't."

Shrugging again and snorting, the man rolled onto his back and out of Bob's sight. "Just don't tell me to shut up again, faggot."

"If you're crying like a little girl while I am trying to sleep then yes, I will tell you to shut the hell up," Bob snapped, his patience rather thin again, "don't _you_ tell _me_ what to do- and don't you _dare _ call me that again."

"Or what?" The man's response sounded almost hesitant, almost like he knew he'd regret it but couldn't stand backing down. But he managed to spit it out anyway.

Bob didn't answer, he just sat up and picked up his book.

As the doors slid open that morning, Bob let his cell-mate exit first before he even moved. He had already made up his mind to get that man moved from his cell, but he was weary as to what other character he might receive.

As soon as he stepped outside his cell, a shorter man looked up from directly in front of him. His eyes were puffy and he sported some red patches, and even some purple, over his skin.

"Gabriel," Bob said, surprised for the second time this morning. But not shocked.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't even kn-know your name, but I just..."

Without another word Bob put a hand on the boy's back and guided him off and down the stairs to a secluded corner of the recreational room, which was right next to the west cell wing, which was where they were housed.

Once there he sat Gabriel down and stood before him. He just gazed at the boy until he started to fidget and took the hint to continue. Gabriel suddenly looked even more miserable than before as he continued.

"My brother ha-ha-has a lot to deal with right now, he told me to go away before I could explain; something about someone called Arnold..."

Still waiting for the part where he came into the picture, Bob crossed his arms.

Looking down, Gabriel looked defeated. "I didn't know who else to turn to...and you helped me last night..."

"What do you want, already?" Bob asked, not too sternly.

Looking flustered now, Gabriel frowned lightly. "I don't know how this works, but...protection?" he finished in a whisper, refusing to make eye contact with Bob.

Thinking for a minute, Bob looked at the kid thoughtfully. "What happened after you went back to your cell?"

Gabriel's gaze flew up to Bob and he gaped like a fish. "You know?" he stage whispered, looking horrified.

"I do now," Bob sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand before drawing up a chair for himself and sitting in front of Gabriel. "Who is your cell-mate?"

Gabriel just stared at Bob, his green eyes somehow darker than the last time Bob had seen them.

"Jeff," he answered, almost as if hypnotised.

Nodding, Bob sighed again. Jeff had a reputation. He stared off into the distance as he decided on what to do, if anything. But one more glance into those hauntingly familiar, fear-filled, green eyes and Bob knew he could do nothing less than everything in his power. For Alan and his bottle-green eyes.

"I can't fix it, obviously," Bob said calmly, "but I can prevent anything else bad from befalling you whilst we're both in here."

"...Wi-will you?" Gabriel asked, hope and desperation oh so obvious in not only his face but his voice, too.

Knowing all too well he was in for a rough ride, Bob nodded. "Yes."

Gabriel's eyes filled with tears and he looked as though he was going to hug Bob. "Thank you..." he muttered, trying to catch his tears before they fell. "I-I don't have anything to repay you with...besides..."

The young man made brief eye contact before looking away nervously.

Narrowing his eyes, Bob crossed his arms again. "Why would you offer that after what happened to you?"

A tear fell from Gabriel's face and the shattered boy looked at Bob again, this time looking a little less nervous. "What sounds better to you, being forced God knows how many times by God knows how many different men, being beaten and intimidated; or giving it willingly to the one man who has promised to protect you?"

There was a pause as the boy's logical words sunk in before Bob uncrossed his arms and placed them on his own knees. "I do not want anything from you but respect."

"You already ha-ha-have that from me," Gabriel stuttered.

"One more thing," Bob said, waving a hand in the air as if to clear it of the topic. "Why do you stutter?"

All he got in a way of response, was a stare, and, "...Ask me that in a years time. If you're still around to hear it, I'll tell you."

-~X~-

By the time evening had rolled on, Bob had pulled practically every string he'd been saving up. The crying man was out of his cell and was swapped places with Gabriel, and the piece of scum called Jeff had a blood bounty on his head. Word spread fast that Bob had taken Gabriel under his wing, though practically everyone thought it was because of a different reason than the true one. But Bob didn't care, and if Gabriel did then Bob didn't care about that either.

That night as he listened to Gabriel's quiet, calm breathing, he wondered whether he would have helped the kid if he hadn't reminded him so much of Alan. If his eyes were brown or blue. And the answer was the first thing in five years of prison that really shocked him.

* * *

_Sorry about the short chapter, but I wanted to give you guys something and it's all that's ready so far. -J-DOL._


	3. Not That Lucky

Chapter 3: Not that Lucky

A week passed and Gabriel turned out to be the best cell mate Bob had ever had. He was quiet, let Bob sleep and read in peace, wasn't arrogant or abusive, and wasn't a damned rapist either. Apparently Gabriel had committed a non-violent crime purely to get sent to jail, it turned out, to be with his brother. Which was a new one for Bob.

The other inmates left Gabriel alone, even Arnold, who was slightly afraid of Bob and had been ever since Bob's first week when he'd broken Arnold's arm in two places when he tried making fun of the redhead.

Bob had gained his respect within the confines of prison quickly enough, and he gave no one trouble that didn't give him any, and so was generally left alone.

"You murdered someone," Gabriel said calmly, only slightly hesitantly.

Bob gave no reply and just flicked to the next page of his book. They were in their cell, and they had one hour until it was lights off for everyone.

"I've heard it several times, now." Gabriel looked at Bob from across the room where he was leaning against the wall, yet the room was so small that he was only a couple of strides away. "From the other inmates. They say you were lucky you didn't get locked up for life."

"I'm not so sure," Bob murmured lowly from behind his book, not looking up.

"Not so sure you w-we-were lucky?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow and then pushed off from the wall and moved to sit on the redhead's bed beside the lanky man. "Well I think it's lucky."

There was silence again; Bob wasn't much of a talker these days, but Gabriel didn't seem to mind. He just accepted what was given to him and asked for no more.

"Who did you kill?" Gabriel asked, "was it a gang-guy or something? Did you shoot someone during a r-robbery? Was it an a-accident?"

Bob finally looked at Gabriel, but it was steely and cold. "No. If you must know, I stalked and stabbed an innocent child, enjoying the feel of the knife cutting into their flesh," he snapped, closing his book with one hand with a dull thud.

Gabriel jumped at the sound, both of Bob's voice and of the book, and hurried off the bed. He lingered whilst Bob laid down, then climbed up to his own bed in silence.

-~X~-

The next morning, as Bob was walking out of his cell, closely followed by Gabriel, Arnold appeared.

"Hey, Bob, I need to talk to you," Arnold said, a frown etched onto his features.

"About?"

Gabriel moved behind Bob and stayed there, peering out at Arnold. Seeing this, Arnold almost smirked, but didn't, which was strange. He looked at Bob and crossed his arms. "About your little pet."

Face emotionless, Bob just gazed at Arnold, but he could feel Gabriel's body tense behind him. "You mean Gabriel?"

Rolling his eyes, Arnold shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, the one that could pass as a friggin' girl. You've been keeping him close for months now, when are you gonna share?"

"I'm not some toy," Gabriel stated quietly but bravely from behind Bob.

Arnold narrowed his eyes at Gabriel and unfolded his arms menacingly. "Says the little boy hiding behind daddy."

Bob put his hand up and closed his eyes for a moment to gain silence before he looked at Arnold again. "Look, Arnold, I will not be letting you do anything to him, nor anyone else for that matter, so just forget about it."

Now seething, Arnold scowled. "Now look here, I saw him first, and I'm not going to hurt him or nothin' I just need him to get to Jace!"

"No."

"Bob!"

"No," Bob said his words deliberately slowly, his eyes sharp. "Forget it."

"Why the fuck not?" Arnold took a step closer and Bob readied himself for the worse; Arnold was easy to shut up until you were standing in his way of Jason, then he was like an animal.

Bob didn't reply to that, because he really didn't know why himself. Because of his green eyes? Because keeping this boy from harm's way kept Bob from falling into a sea of guilt? Because Alan no longer haunted him?

Apparently losing his patience, Arnold yelled in frustration and lunged at Bob, his hands fisted and his face contorted. But Bob was ready and fought him off until a couple of guards dragged them apart and took Arnold off to The Hole, the place of punishment with no windows, no light, and such small dimensions that one could hardly stretch out. The guards never got any trouble from Bob, but always received it from Arnold, and so knew without questions who had started the fight.

One of the guards stayed behind, Carter, the guard that Bob often did business with. He grinned at Bob and at the bruise starting to swell on his left cheekbone.

"You and Arnold haven't fought since you got in here, Bob," he said.

"Things change," Bob said and spat blood onto the floor.

Carter frowned at the mess but said nothing. "Well, I needed to speak with you anyway."

Gabriel stood shaking a little, gazing at Bob's slight injuries. Bob's only indentation that he wanted to hear what Carter had to say was a glance in his direction.

"Well, I remember you saying that if anything that might help you lessen your sentence was to come up, I should tell you about it."

Nodding, Bob wiped his mouth with his sleeve, ignoring Gabriel's worried expression.

"Well, ol' chum," Carter said with another grin, looking chipper, "I did one better and signed you up for it."

"What's 'it'?"

"A program of sorts- you'll be given the details later." Carter waved it off. "The point is, if you do well, you'll have the opportunity to lessen your sentence considerably. With this and the good work you've been doing in your therapy sessions, you'll be out of here in no time."

Therapy sessions was just a nicer way of saying being lectured to by a psychologist who actually thinks they can analyse and fix him. Despite the redundancy of the sessions, it was nice to talk to someone with an above-average intellect for a change. He'd been signed up for the sessions when food completely lost it's appeal to him and he just wasn't eating, which was the very first day he was incarcerated. They'd thought he was suicidal- which wasn't too far from the truth.

Suddenly Gabriel perked up. "Can I sign up, too?"

Carter's gaze slid to the kid and he looked at him in a scrutinising manner before looking at Bob questioningly. "It's not like it's a free-for-all thing, I owe Bob one and that's why I signed him up for it..."

But Bob nodded and Carter relented and put his hands up in defeat. "Alright. But that means we're even-steven, Bobby-Boy."

"Fine," Bob said and watched as an amused Carter walked away.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel said sheepishly. "I didn't know."

"It's fine."

-~X~-

Bob had shackles around his wrists and ankles, and as he was shuffled from the short bus he made a mental note to _kill_ Carter when he finally got out of prison. He and Gabriel and a small group of other inmates were on a trip to give a 'scare lecture' about how scary it is in prison and how they regret what they did to get in there in the first place. It was supposed to scare people into not committing crimes so they could avoid prison. Bob wasn't sure whether this was worth the possible benefits it might hold for him.

As they approached the building, Bob could feel the chains linking him to the other inmates tugging from behind. Gabriel was behind him, and from the tugging Bob assumed the kid was nervous and fidgeting and stumbling. Bob sighed audibly.

They finally got to the room they were headed for, and the inmates all had a little lecture with the group about the perils of prison life. The terrors and the inconveniences and the things they miss. And then they were all unchained from each other and they all sat down face-to-face, individually, with a person from the group to 'chat'.

Bob sat in his wooden chair, the chair that sat facing him empty; apparently he was the odd one out because one of the group had bailed- had not wanted to talk to criminals. How shocking.

He sighed and watched Gabriel talk to the fidgeting stranger who looked just as uncomfortable as Gabriel did. Then a voice from behind told him that his 'partner' had arrived and a man sat down in the chair in front of him. He looked at the man and realised he was just a kid, just like all the rest. He was blond with blue eyes and he was just a kid, and he was Bart Simpson.

Everything froze, including Bob, and he stared at the teenager who wasn't even paying him any attention. Bart Simpson was sitting right in front of him, not a metre away, and he hadn't even recognised him yet.

The idea of running away popped into Bob's head before anything else, and his body almost obeyed the unconscious command. But then Bart finally looked at his partner and his eyes widened and he stood up, his chair falling down behind him from the force.

They stayed like that for a moment, one sitting, one standing, both staring, for at least a minute before Bart shook his head and backed away.

"No _fucking_ way."

Bob was still speechless.

"No fucking way in hell- someone get him out of here!" Bart shouted, pointing at Bob, gaining attention. He looked angry, hurt, scared. A man walked over and talked to Bart lowly, but Bob could still hear Bart's raised voice:

"No!

"I don't care!

"I'd rather spend my life in juvvi then talk to that son of a bitch!

"No fucking way!

"But I can't!"

Bart was looking slightly defeated, glancing at the still-silent Bob with worried eyes.

"Fuck this, then, I want to go back to my cell.

"It's a fucking _cell_.

"No! I can't- I won't! You can't make me!"

The argument went on for a good five minutes before Bart was coaxed back into his seat and the man had taken a few steps back but lingered in case of another outburst. Bart glared razorblades at Bob, his position stiff, rigid, and slightly awkward. He radiated hate.

"They're making me talk to you," Bart said stonily, his face turned away from Bob's. He was met only with silence and a stare, which made Bart scowl. "Well, say something."

"I'm sorry," Bob said evenly, gracelessly. It sounded like the first word he'd uttered in a very long time.

Bart paled and, if possible, looked even more uncomfortable. He frowned in anger, confusion. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Bob repeated, slower this time, and with more meaning.

They sat in silence for the rest of the session, no one could make either of them speak, and then the prisoners were chained back up and led out of the room. Bob glanced back into the room just before he left, watching Bart watching him.

He didn't know what to think.

"Bob, do you kn-kn-know that kid?" Gabriel asked in a hushed tone from behind the redhead.

Still so startled was Bob, that all he could reply with was: "I killed him."

-~X~-

"Carter, you have some explaining to do." Bob was staring the guard down from inside his cell, the man having stopped whilst he was walking by to humour the incarcerated criminal.

"Pardon?"

"You set me up," Bob said with a glower.

Carter looked genuinely confused. "Uh, yeah- that's what you wanted."

Bob frowned. "What- no, not with the program, with...him."

Raising an eyebrow, Carter folded his arms. "And who is 'he' might I ask?"

"You...don't know?" Bob didn't wait for a reply and just walked backwards until his back hit the bunk beds.

"No. I have no clue what you're talking about, so, no."

"Then, it was a coincidence?"

"Whatever the hell you're talking about, yeah," Carter said, looking at Bob like he was crazy. When Bob said nothing more, Carter shrugged and moved on with his patrol shift.

"Who is he, B-B-Bob?" Gabriel asked gently, watching Bob sit down on his bed and hold his face in his hands. "You do know him."

"Yes, unfortunately, I do," Bob sighed. "He's the person I intended to kill. But I mistook his friend for he and killed him instead."

Gabriel sat down beside Bob but did not touch him or say anything. He just listened.

"I plotted for so long. I...stalked him. I waited and I frothed at the bit, waiting. And then I got carried away and killed the wrong one." Bob sounded far away, even to himself.

"Why did you want to kill him?"

Bob shook his head. "For many reasons. All of which dissolved when I killed Alan." The name just slipped out of his mouth. It slipped out and then it floundered on the floor in front of his eyes like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Bob stared and his breath quickened. He had not spoken Alan's name. Not ever. Not out loud. "Go away," Bob murmured.

"What?-"

"Go away. Now!" Bob was serious and he must have sounded it, too, because Gabriel scrambled off to his own bed without another word.

The name sounded so wrong from such sullied lips.

-~X~-

Bart glared at his social worker. "You set me up, didn't you?"

The calm man just gazed back at Bart, looking at him thoughtfully. "No, I didn't. Nor did anyone else, before you can accuse someone else of setting you up, too. It was a coincidence."

"That's a pretty big fucking coincidence."

"Language, Bart," the man reprimanded casually.

"Screw that, I was just in the same room- _talked to,_ the man who tried to kill me several times and then who killed my friend when I was eleven," he seethed, his fists clenching.

"I know. I know all about Mr. Terwilliger, but you have to understand, Bart, I didn't have any clue that he was going to be there."

Bart was still pissed off, but at least he needn't be pissed off at Henry. The social worker wasn't a bad guy. Just an annoying guy with an inhuman amount of patience and calm.

Henry sighed and looked down at some paperwork. "No one connected the dots between you two. Robert was signed up for the program late."

Bart crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "What about him? Did he know I was going to be there?"

"I don't think so, the inmates weren't given much information about the program before they signed up and even then they were only told that they were going to a Juvenile Detention Centre, not about the other individuals involved, whichever party."

Running a hand through his hair, Bart stared at the carpet for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Well I guess you'll just have to find me another 'extra curriculum activity' to do, Henry."

Henry pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at the blond. "I'm sorry, Bart, but you have to go back again."

Bart flinched and his glare returned. "What? No! Why?"

"It's a part of your rehabilitation. It was assigned to you by the judge. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't pull you out." At least Henry looked a little sympathetic. "You have to finish it. But it will be good for you, I think."

"Good for me?" Bart spat, scowling angrily. "How on Earth could spending time with that psychopath be 'good for me'?"

Henry smiled a little. "Closure?" That second-hand word tasted like raw lemon to Bart.

As Bart went back to his room- they insisted on calling it a room though it was basically a cell, he couldn't stop biting his nails and running his hand through his hair. The one man who Bart hated and, although he was loath to admit, feared, more than any other and Bart had to spend time with him. For God-knows how many weeks.

Bart noticed Colin, another boy detained in the centre and felt his muscles twitch. He hated Colin, the kid was a douche, and Bart had a lot of pent up anger. So he let it out on Colin, who gave as good as he got, and they were eventually pulled apart by a few of the workers and Bart was detained in his room.

He more than half hoped they wouldn't 'let' him go to the next meeting because of such a random, violent act. But he'd never been that lucky.

* * *

_I really love dialogue. Please review and tell me what you think. I love reviews more than I love my children. Just kidding; I don't have any children. But if I did..._


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